Chapter 3: House in the woods. Continuation 5
The old man finally comes to us. He breathes noisily, assessing the situation, and then he says firmly:
- Let's go to the house.
Nobody dares to cross him.
The owner leads us to the kitchen, puts a kettle on the stove and only then sits in his chair and sighs heavily.
- This is not the first time, - he said. - There are wolves in these forests. Big wolves. Huge ones. Sometimes they come to us to profit. Not too often, but in the full moon, their hunger is particularly severe.
Dean's hand on Matilda's shoulder stops, he and his brother share a long, tense look, and Sam asks:
- Have you ever seen these wolves?
- I've seen, - says "Mathilde" through the sobs. - Once, about a year ago. I heard howling at night and looked out the window. It was huge, not like a regular wolf. Black hair on the back of his head and burning yellow eyes - she starts crying again, Dean resumes soothing strokes on his shoulder. - And in the morning, Mrs. Garrison told us that her son was missing. Tom. We thought he'd just gone into town, but we haven't heard from him since, and we're afraid it was the wolf who dragged him into the woods. And not just him, - the girl quietly ends.
Joseph wasn't happy with the quacking.
- People will come up with one. Well, the teenager left for the city, that's all.
- Did Chris also leave two years ago? Left his mother, whom he loved more than life, and didn't even tell him where he was going? And Sandra and his cousin, who came to her for a day? They went for a walk in the woods, and nobody else saw them. The police were searching the area, but they couldn't find anyone, - she said desperately, almost shouting. She was almost hysterical.
- Coincidence, - her father says. - The village is dying out, and the young people are just dreaming of leaving the village.
- And the little Bobby Smith? He was six when he disappeared four years ago. Did he also go to town to earn money? - "Matilda" does not give up.
Joseph barely gets up and approaches his daughter, who looks at him with indignation. They haven't paid any attention to us for a long time.
- You need to rest. I will take you to your room.
She is still burning with the desire to prove her father right, but still reluctantly rises and comes out of the kitchen ahead of him.
- Joseph, - stops Dean the old man when he's on the doorstep. - Would you mind if we took advantage of your hospitality for another day?
The old man turns around loaded, drills his eyes and shrugs his shoulders:
- For God's sake.
Dean nods, and Sam rises from his chair and goes to the stove to take off the boiling kettle.
- Why do we have to stay here? - I'm whispering. I don't like it all, I don't like it at all. I want to get away from this strange place as quickly as possible. - We need to get to Dallas.
- One day won't change anything, Dallas isn't going anywhere, - Dean says firmly, and I know the decision has already been made. - Sit here for a while and Sam and I will take a little walk, okay?
He's not waiting for my answer, he's just leaving.
And why does it feel so clear in my head that such a "walk" is quite common for them? I'm scared. I don't want them to go there.
Except my opinion here is not interesting to anyone.
Chapter 4: Swamp.
The brothers go into the woods when the sun is already rolling over to the second half of their journey. They've been digging around the car for a long time, stuffing the trunk with a large black bag, and then disappearing into the trees. I watch them through the window of the annex where we have been assigned to stay overnight, and I struggle with the need to call one of them out for any reason and talk them out of it, whether they are true or false, and leave the territory of the village. This desire gnaws at me until Sam's back, the last one coming, is hidden between the mighty trunks.
At first I'm trying to keep myself busy with something. I'm wandering around the house, finally meeting a girl who's still Mary's name, not Mathilde's. I help her feed the sheep, dragging heavy bales of hay while she reluctantly tells me about the dying village, the drying up meadows and lakes that turn into swamps. Joseph fiddles in the bird quarters, picking up corpses and flushing blood with water. It's hard for him to lean over, it's hard for him to walk, but I don't turn my tongue to offer him help, and I try not to look in the other direction once again.
Mary offers me dinner, just puts the krynks with meat, bread and thick sour cream on the table in front of me, and leaves. She's depressed, but hardly by the fact that their bird was torn apart by a giant wolf, but rather by the fact that Dean went to the woods to look for him. I understand her.
After remembering my breakfast near the swamp, I took pieces of bread and meat and went there. I like this place. It would be great to meditate here if I could do it. But I can't, so I just chew, watching small and large air bubbles slowly rise from the bottom of the swamp, freeze by the surface while the sun shines on the cloudy film, and then burst into flames with light cotton. The wind immediately carries a rotten grassy smell.